Poetry III


The Muse is dead –
let us proclaim the Inspiration!
Let us worship through the talents given us,
offering up the higher praise!
Let us use these gifts
that have been granted us
to show Truth – which is Beauty –
provide example,
and demonstrate the Reality!




Catching the light,
a flash of brilliance
in a world of darkness,
cutting a clear path
through shadow and despair;
complications resolve themselves
into your perfect,
almost holy self.

How soon?
How long before I
cut the bonds that hold us,
taking you with me
to carve out a realm,
a sanctuary, an Eden,
leaving behind
the iron conventions,
the chains that others
use to bind us?

Set me free.
Pull me to you.
Light my darkness.
Be at my side.
Fortify me.
Be my blade.


They call you cold, callous even,
say you have no tact, no subtlety,
taking what you want and
leaving pain and loss behind you.
I’d say not, see further.Bleeding in the mind
creates a pressure only
pain in others leaves assuaged;
I can understand that, feel it, use it,
see in you a strength for two
souls sharing journey time.
Be mine.
Come with me
out, away, beyond,
Set me free.
Fortify me.
Be my blade.



I strained too much, perhaps,
to capture the serenity,
tried too hard to set all aside,
lost a family, friends and job
through the ceaseless inner exploration
that I undertook at the expense
of sociability, social norms
and polite behaviour.
Society cast me out,
and in the void,
I found it.

I don’t care now.

August 2003